


if thou must love me (let it be for nought except for love's sake only)

by loverloverlover



Series: the broken wireless [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Baby Victoire, Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:34:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26983714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverloverlover/pseuds/loverloverlover
Summary: bill weasley reminisces on the love in his life, and marvels at the new love he's only recently found.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour/Bill Weasley
Series: the broken wireless [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1969276
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	if thou must love me (let it be for nought except for love's sake only)

**Author's Note:**

> this fic can be read on its own, but i do recommend reading part one of this series first first—you'll get the most out of this fic if you do! also, the song 'happiness is a butterfly,' by lana del ray, gave me a lot of thoughts while i was writing this. 
> 
> now, onto logistics: this fic is written for the international wizarding school competition, practice round two, on ffn.net.
> 
> hogwarts - the horn of plenty: _"cornucopias and harvest festivals, october is a time of plenty."_ (wealth, **love,** competition, death.)
> 
> 5\. [pairing - romantic] bill weasley/fleur delacour
> 
> 6\. [actions] dancing

Despite the war that had dominated Bill Weasley’s young adulthood—the war that had stolen bits of him he’d never get back—the man had known many forms of love in his life, and had cherished every moment the emotion had made itself known, no matter how small. He had thought he’d experienced all the forms of love he’d ever experience, even if those known forms evolved with every day he walked the earth. It was no surprise that he was wrong, that there was a form of love he’d unanticipated.

He’d known of a mother’s love—known of her warm hugs, even warmer knitted sweaters, the hot meals and hot chocolates on rainy afternoons, and the ice lollies she always paired with her itchy healing spells. He’d known of a father’s love, with all the sage advice, the teachings, and the adventures that his mother can never know about. He’d known a sibling’s love, packed with playful schemes, with a pleading “no, you’re fine, don’t tell Mum!” shouted across a living room, and the impossibility of emotions—the impossibility of loving and hating at the same time. He’d known the love of a friend, which was full of good-hearted slugs to the shoulder, of rowdy parties with too much Firewhiskey, and of bad decisions that turn into great memories.

And he’d known romantic love— _true_ romantic love, not lust, though that was a love he’d experienced as well. Fleur’s love, the only romantic love he’d properly cherished and valued, was full of soft lingering touches, of a quiet contentment after the sun had set, and of many, many, “I bought you this at the market because it reminded me of the color of your eyes.” The kind of love he shared with Fleur was the kind the poets wrote about—the kind of love that those same poets, no matter their skill with the pen, had been unable to fully capture in its grandeur.

These past few months, however, Bill had found and become accustomed to that love that he’d been unaware he’d been missing: a child’s love, a _daughter’s_ love. Victoire Weasley had been born five months ago, on what otherwise would have been an extremely somber day, and each day of those five months she had succeeded in breaking his heart open a little bit wider. Victoire was a complete and utter bundle of joy, with her mother’s shining beauty and her father’s crooked, cheesing smile, and Bill already knew that he would literally be unable to live without her.

Victoire was still so small, her little blonde head fitting into the palm of Bill’s hand, and the way she gazed up at him from the crook of his arm conveyed enough affection and unmitigated trust that she may as well have spontaneously gained the ability to tell him as much with words. As it were, she was currently just babbling nonsensically at him, and he was nodding along and agreeing as if she were the sagest of philosophers—not a baby whose face was still ruddy with tears.

The new wireless Fleur had purchased in Diagon Alley was sat on the circular end table by the window seat. It was emitting a jaunty little tune—a tune that Victoire was immensely pleased by and had Bill vowing to figure out a way to spell the wireless to play it all the time, even if it rotted his brain and drove him completely nuts.

It was the middle of the night, and though Victoire had been sleeping through the night for over a month now, she was fussy tonight. (She’d also inherited her lungs from her mother.) When her muffled cries had first permeated the walls of Bill and Fleur’s bedroom, Bill had bid Fleur to continue sleeping. He’d then left to swoop their crying baby out of her crib, leaving his wife under the warm duvet with a kiss to her forehead and a squeeze of her hip.

He had fully expected Fleur to continue sleeping, to take advantage of his offer to soothe the baby and catch up on her lost sleep, so he was slightly surprised when she appeared from the hallway in her thick lavender dressing gown. Her long blonde hair was mussed from her pillow—well, as mussed as her Veela genes ever allowed her to be—and even as she hid a large yawn behind her fist, her blue eyes scrunching and her pert nose crinkling, her beauty hit him like a punch to the gut. It always did, and Bill knew in his bones that it always would, even when they were old, grey, and wrinkled and bickering over what channel to tune the wireless to.

 _“Est-ce qu'elle va bien, mon cœur?”_ Fleur inquired sleepily, coming to stand at his side as he rocked Victoire back and forth. Fleur smoothed the blanket on Victoire’s chest and ran a finger down the babe’s cheek. Victoire gurgled quietly, but excitedly, at the sight of her mother, all thoughts of sleep gone. Fleur didn’t grab Victoire from Bill’s arms, though, just leaned into his side and kept her slim hand on her daughter’s chest.

“She’s perfect, as usual,” Bill replied quietly. “Just resistant to sleep at the moment.”

“She eez like ‘er father, in zat regard.” Fleur’s voice when she was still half asleep was Bill’s favorite, all throaty and thick with her accent. Bill pulled her closer with his unoccupied arm, Victoire sandwiched happily between them, and Fleur leaned her head on Bill’s shoulder with a deep exhale. Then, as if the wireless were sentient, the music slowed and bid them to dance along. Though their feet didn’t actually move from their place on the hardwood, the both of them too tired to do so, it was dancing all the same. Fleur let out a contented sigh at his gentle movements, her eyes closed as she stepped even closer to him, wrapping one arm around his middle.

Bill, full of this new love for Victorie, and the love for Fleur that seemed as ingrained in him as his own personality, just held his two girls close and closed his eyes to the music.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! this is mostly a fluff piece, that doesn't really have much plot, but i think i like it more that way. it was an interesting character study of bill weasley, and i'm happy the prompts for practice round two of iwsc allowed me to continue this little bill/fleur universe i've made for myself. 
> 
> also? french? not my first language. i did my best with my limited high school era knowledge that's a few years old lol
> 
> the title for this fic is a quote from my favorite elizabeth barrett browning sonnet, _XIV_ from _sonnets from the portuguese._ honestly, i love most of EBB's work, though this one resonates with me in a particularly profound way. my interpretation of this sonnet is that one should not love someone for superficial reasons—like a smile, a laugh, or the way one speaks. one should love another person because of who that person is—because those superficial reasons may not always be unchanging, so "if thou must love me, let it be for nought except for love's sake only."
> 
> thanks again for reading! let me know what you thought in a comment, and kudos are greatly appreciated :))


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